Warlock
by AEPhoenix
Summary: After his fourth year Harry is alone. Any attempt to contact his friends results in a reply of blank letters. It is almost a relief then, when the dementors come for him. It's more than a relief when the attack allows him to form a pact; to end Voldemort his way and gain the power to do so. But maybe that can wait a little. Vengeance can be sweeter that victory after all.
1. Alone

**Technically a DD 4e/5e crossover, but meh. ****Writing when I cba. Don't expect regular updates. **

Harry was alone. It was a conclusion that had taken him several weeks to come to, but one he was now certain of. Seldom had he needed the presence of a friend to comfort him, but this time, the worst time, was just like the rest. Silence.

He lay on his bed in the dark, at Number 4, Privet Drive, opting unable to continue what had been a daily routine of writing a letter.

He'd written several letters, asking for advice. Then conversation, and finally just a cry for help, to get out of the pit of despair he was slowly descending into. Watching a boy die at the hands of the Dark Lord Voldemort had traumatised him and he was conscious of it. But so far the only messages he had received were warning him not to do anything rash (_yes thank you Sirius_) and the absence of his final remaining friend.

Hedwig, the snowy owl whom he cherished with all his heart had not returned from her last trip. That meant she was either trapped, injured, or... No, that would be ridiculous. They probably locked her up. Which made him doubly angry.

If they didn't want to talk, they could say so. Kidnapping his friend... Harry's hand curled onto a fist. It took him a minute to calm down again.

But it did no good to ponder on it. That was how it was, apparently. Harry was going to have to live with the solitude, and suffer in silence. Again.

Nothing remained but to close his eyes and slowly drift off, into the realms of Morpheus, where he knew Cedric's death would be replayed over, and over...

Ξ

Harry awoke rather peacefully; a strange occurrence these days. He couldn't recall any dreams, or anything else. Just peaceful, restful sleep. Harry actually felt like he'd rested for once.

It was as he sat up he realised something was off. The first thing being balance. He couldn't quite make out which way was downwards. Obviously he could see the floor but... speaking of the floor, it was grey. As was the whole room. It was daytime, light streaming in through the window, but the desk, the sheets, the walls - everything was in dull monochrome.

Unsteadily, Harry placed his feet on the floor, attempting to stand - and falling almost immediately. He felt a great pain in his head, and saw darkness.

Ξ

Three days later Harry was in the park of Little Whinging. It was small, but there were a few things to keep children entertained: a slide, a climbing frame; even a zipwire. And the all important swings, which he was making great use of - sitting and brooding had become quite a hobby of his. Brooding over being abandoned by his friends mostly. And his life in general up to that point. The countless times he'd been left in the dirt, starting when he'd lost a few house points in first year. People were petty.

But today, apparently, his brooding was to be disturbed.

Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye a group of several boys, his age. There was only one of those in Little Whinging: his cousin's group. If they saw him they'd surely make a beeline for him,something he'd normally avoid. But these past few days he'd felt a sturrung rage inside of him, begging to be unleashed.

He watched them walk across the park, evidently taking no notice of him. Any sudden movement, or sound and they'd come running for him.

They were almost at the end now and he was tempted to call out... but no, he couldn't. Why risk the pain? He would be expelled if he used magic to deal with them. He watched the group walk through the gate and around the bend..

_There you go Sirius. Nothing rash. The exact opposite of what you would have done._ The sarcastic thought only brought him anger at his supposed godfather.

Harry dismounted the swing and started walking. So far walking it off had been the best way to deal with it.

His speed slowly increased as more thought of betrayal and loneliness filled his head. After a bit of walking his speed became evident as he rounded a corner to find Dudley's gang. He quickly reversed, hiding in the shadow of the street he had come from, but still close enough to hear them talking.

"...he squealed like a pig! That was a good kick Marcus!"

"But your right hook though! Anyway, same time tomorrow? My parents are out again."

"Sure thing Big D. See ya!"

There were a couple more murmurs of farewells, and then they dispersed, leaving only Dudley to walk home alone.

Throwing caution to the wind, Harry approached.

"Hey Big D!" he grinned.

Dudley turned around, surprised for a moment, before visibly relaxing..

"Oh, its you." He grunted.

"Since when were you 'Big D' then?" Harry said cheerfully.

"Shut it." Dudley grunted again, sounding slightly annoyed.

"I must say, I do prefer Ickle Duddikins though. Has more of a ring to it don't you think?" Harry fell in beside his cousin, who was beginning to get visibly frustrated.

"I said SHUT IT!" Dudley replied, his hamlike hands curling into fists.

"But I thought you liked being called 'Diddums'. You don't complain when-"

Harry narrowly dodged the fist that came hurtling in the direction of his nose. Dudley glared at him for a second, then mumbled something under his breath before walking on again, fists still clenched.

"What's that Dudders? I can't hear you." Harry smirked, still standing where he'd been before.

Dudley stopped and yelled angrily "I SAID YOU'RE NOT SO TOUGH AT NIGHT ARE YOU?! "

"What do you mean?" Harry said, feeling the colour slowly drain from his face.

"You think I haven't heard you moaning at night? It's pathetic."

Harry was speechless for the moment, pale faced and with a dry throat. Then, "I've no idea what you mean."

"Oh come off it, even Mum and Dad can hear it," Dudley was the one smirking now. "'Don't kill Cedric! don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric? Your boyfriend?"

That was enough for Harry to snap. All the rage he'd been building up was let loose as he began to march forward, drawing his wand. Dudley looked at the stick and jeered.

"You can't use it outside school. You'll be expelled." He still had that stupid grin on his face. Until Harry brought the wand up, jabbing it between the boy's chin and his Adam's apple.

"Who says they didn't change the rules? Nothing is stopping me, Ickle Duddykins." Harry's voice was cold and harsh, each syllable dripping with venom and malice. Dudley's face morphed into one of fear.

"Th-they didn't! They couldn't! Y-you're bluffing!" Harry enjoyed every fearful word, finally able to feel powerful. Then Dudley shrieked.

"Stop it! Whatever you're doing stop it now!"

Harry hadn't noticed it before, but it was suddenly colder. The sky had darkened, with dark grey clouds coating it. The wind had picked up somewhat, causing something wooden nearby to strain and creak.

Without any warning, the entire world darkened and turned grey for a brief second, and a sharp pain caused Harry to bend overover and clutch at his head.

Harry's face met with a foot, and his wand was wrenched from his hand. He heard a loud _SNAP! _and then heavy footsteps running away. Harry fell to the ground.

And then the pain stopped, and the world brightened, colours refilling the land. But the chill remained. And worse, Harry began to feel sorrow and fear grip his mind: the effect of a dementor's presence. Getting to his feet and searching the sky told him all he expected.

Two dark, cloaked, legless silhouettes were rapidly descending in his direction. He scanned the ground to see where he'd dropped his wand. No... he couldn't see it but-

There! Five feet from him he saw the long, slender piece of wood... snapped in two pieces.

Harry's throat felt dry, but this wasn't the time. He picked up the pieces and ran.

It didn't take Harry long to catch up to his whale of a cousin. Upon seeing him Dudley desperately tried to speed up, apparently still afraid that Harry could hurt him without a wand. He almost slowed down in confusion when Harry yelled "Run!"

Then they were side by side, Dudley confused but afraid, Harry trying his best to outrun the embodiment of fear itself. In the back of his mind a piercing scream began to echo, but without his wand he could do nothing.

Then one came around the corner ahead. Harry grabbed his cousin's hand and pulled in the other direction-

But there was the other one. Both ends of the small street were cut off. There was no way out.

Moving too fast for Harry to react they were on top of the two boys, knocking them to the floor.

Without his wand, Harry did the only thing he could. He landed the punch square in the thing's face, knocking its hood back and revealing a rotten, translucent, skeletal head with small bits of some kind of black metal piercing it's cheekbones.

The dementor shrieked. A deafening scream pierced the street, and Harry barely heard Dudley yelling in pain for it to stop. Then both of them were unable to talk as some kind of force sucked on their mouths, forcing them open.

Harry felt all warmth leaving him, as he was forced to stare into the empty sockets of the being. He craned his neck trying to escape but it didn't matter. He felt a numbness, slowly losing control of himself. He couldn't feel his legs or his arms, and now his chest was gone.

And it travelled further still. His neck was unfeelable, and suddenly he had no sense of smell or taste. The world was odd without smell. And then his vision was gone, as he felt himself travelling up, out of his mouth. And then he had no feeling whatsoever, and there was but darkness.

**Like, comment, subscribe, and then don't because I'm tired and prolly won't finish this. **


	2. Death Hath Many Faces

**Starting at 23:55, 6th May. I have school tomorrow. Oh well. Can't sleep so I'm writing.**

**Also, apologies for spelling mistakes in chapter 1, for some reason it wasn't updating to the right version when I tried to fix 'em.**

**Ξ**

Harry awoke with a gasp, bolting upright with wide eyes. He'd been running, then the dementors and then-

Was he dead? It was possible: he hadn't reawoken on the roads of Little Whinging.

Or rather, he had, but it was different. He saw the familiar shapes of the street - they'd made it as far as Wysteria Walk it seemed - but it was dark, and everything was without colour. The sun still hung low in the afternoon sky, but seemed to provide little light or warmth. Harry could feel the cold seeping into his bones.

He saw his cousin next to him, lying sprawled out and face up on the road. The muscles in the boy's face were completely relaxed, with eyes shut and a mouth which lulled open. A quick feel of his wrist told Harry that Dudley was unconscious, not deceased, though the beat was slower than it should be. Harry was no mediwizard, but even he could tell a few seconds between pulses was too slow.

Harry stood slowly, taking in his surroundings. It was quiet, silent without the sound of breathing from the two boys. An ominous feeling that they were being watched filled the back of Harry's mind, and he began darting his eyes around, reaching for his wand instinctively and-

His wand. He heard the loud snapping echoing in his head. Harry felt defenceless and weak without his ever-present companion. And alone, even more so than before.

Harry glanced at Dudley. Saliva was beginning to leak from his mouth.

He would have to carry him back, else face his aunt and uncle's wroth. Not that he wouldn't anyway, but perhaps he it would hurt slightly less if their son was brought to them alive and well. And then he would attack his books to see if he could find what was wrong with Little Whinging.

Bending his legs Harry attempted to get his arms under the fat boy. It took a bit of wriggling, but after a minute or so his hands reappeared on the other side of his couson's belly, somewhat more grazed than before. He counted down in his head, and then _HEAVE! _

Dudley moved about 4 centimetres off the ground, then Harry collapsed on top of him.

His weak arms would never support Dudley's weight, Harry concluded. So it was option number two, which was likely to get him a smack with the frying pan, but would give him a bit more pleasure. He grabbed both of his cousin's legs and started dragging him in the direction of Privet Drive.

What surprised Harry the most was that there wasn't anybody coming out of their houses to either help him or berate him. The only sounds came from the two boys still. It took a few minutes, but Wysteria Walk was only a few streets over from Privet Drive.

As Harry was approaching the driveway of Number 4, a loud cry startled him into almost dropping Dudley. He caught himself at the last second, and looked around for the source. An enormous raven glided over his head. It let out another loud cry. Its wingspan must have been at least six feet, maybe nearing ten.

It moved gracefully forwards, before landing on the porch of Number 4 silently. It's beady eyes stared at Harry, almost expectantly.

Shaking his head, Harry started moving again, aware of the unwavering gaze upon him. It was a chore to get Dudley up the driveway, but he managed it eventually. He was still puzzled by the fact that nobody had come out to save Dudley from criminally insane Harry Potter, but that puzzlement was being slowly replaced by dread.

That feeling came to a climax when Harry knocked on the door of Number 4. He was dead for sure if his uncle and aunt saw Dudley like this. He'd feel the frying pan against his head, something that hadn't happened for four years.

No response. Harry knocked again.

Silence.

Dropping Dudley to the ground with a thud, Harry tried the door. The door handle turned, and it swung open freely. A chill ran down Harry's spine. The interior of the jousjouse was completely dark. Peering in, Harry couldn't even see the end of the hallway. Still, not a sound.

He picked up his cousin's legs once more and pulled the whale inside with a heave. He fumbled for the light switch he knew was there, somewhere along this wall... there! The lights came on. But it was only slightly brighter than it had been outside. The bulb seemed to be unable to produce more than a candle's worth of light.

"Uncle Vernon?" Harry called out. No response.

"Aunt Petunia? Hello?"

Silence was the only reply. Something was wrong in Little Whinging. As if that wasn't obvious, Harry thought to himself. The lights were dim, the people were gone, and no other sound besides that massive raven.

Leaving Dudley in the hallway, Harry cautiously moved up the stairs; perhaps there was something of this sort in one of his school books. Unlikely, but it was the only place he would be able to glean any kind of magical knowledge.

He entered his room and made a beeline for his trunk. He threw it open and started shuffling through the different books. Obviously there would be nothhing in Care of Magical Creatures... nope, this didn't look like Transfiguration... Harry started chucking books out of the trunk.

Charms perhaps? Or Defence Against the Dark Arts. Setting aside any books from those subjects (besides Break With a Banshee; he thought he'd burned that), Harry sifted through the rest, pausing only at the standard books of spells but deciding that this was far from standard.

Harry closed the trunk, and looked at the small pile. Seven books. This could take a while.

Resolving to only skim through them initially, Harry reached for _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self _Protection, but froze when a he heard avoice from behind him.

"You won't find anything in there."

Harry turned quickly, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand. It found only the broken pieces. He felt suddenly extremely vulnerable.

Behind him a girl sat on his windowsill. The window was open, and her dark hair was caressed by a light breeze, although Harry couldn't remember there being any wind outside. She looked around his age, perhaps slightly older, with a sharp, angular face that showed off prominent cheekbones and a definitive jawline. Her skin was pale; almost bone white - which contrasted heavily with her dark clothing: loose black leathers on top and slim black jeans. A silver diadem adorned the top of her head, encrusted with dark onyx which her irises copied perfectly.

Several ravens, five or so, stood next to her on the window ledge, seemingly minding their own business. The girl's eyes watched him beadily, causing chills to run down Harry's spine. He felt an unnatural fear of this girl ;it radiated off her in waves.

He opened his mouth to speak but for a moment he could not. The words were caught in his throat. She was patient. After a few seconds he finally managed to choke out the words "Who-who are you?"

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Did your mother never tell you it's rude to ask a girl's name before giving your own?"

Harry was about to stutter that he'd never known his mother when he was cut off by the girl.

"I'm sorry, that was insensitive. I know who you are anyhow. I've been trying to bring you here for a while - not permenantly you see, just for a chat. A little one on one." Her neutral face had morphed into an apologetic smile, though her words only confused Harry more.

"What do you mean 'bring me here'? We're in Little Whinging. Aren't we...?" Harry trailed off. They had to be, they hadn't moved. This was his room. They couldn't possibly be anywhere else. Then he remembered his first thoughts when he woke up. This wasn't Little Whinging.

"Sort of." The girl said, brushing her hair to the side. "But actually no not at all. To tell you the truth, we're on a completely different plane of existence."

Harry tried to comprehend what she'd just said. She could be lying of course, a death eater here to trick him into believing this so that he would follow her to Voldemort and be killed. But it would make sense as to why the lights were all weird.

"If this is a different 'plane of existence' as you call it, then why does it all look so similar to, well, my plane of existence?" Harry asked slowly.

The girl seemed to hesitate for a second before replying this time. One of the ravens beside her called out, and she looked at it, before shaking her head. Finally she broke the silence.

"Okay quick crash course on reality." she took a deep breath before starting. "Your plane, or the plane you live on, is the material, where all the stuff happens. Centre of the multiverse, home of literally everything that actually matters. Now, adjacent to your plane there are these two planes which mirror it - sort of updating to the latest version of the material whenever someone enters and exits it, except with their own touches, and no mortal living beings. Most of the time.

"One of those planes is called the Feywild, the plane of light and magic and those annoying pointy eared pricks called fey. It's where magic comes from. When you lot start casting spells you're drawing magic from there. Everything is nice and colourful and bright over there, lots of lovely nature. House elves came from there too but that's a long story."

"So this is the other one?" Harry cut in as the girl paused for breath. She nodded.

"This is the Shadowfell. The plane of shadows, obviously, and..." she trailed off, making a face.

"And what?" Harry leant forward.

"And Death."

He froze. He felt the colour draining from his cheeks. He was in the plane of death. Did that mean... No that wasn't possible. But he did get kissed by the dementors...

"Am I dead?" he asked slowly, almost not wanting an answer.

"At the moment? Yes. Your cousin too. But it can be reversed." This puzzled Harry more than anything so far. Or would have, if he wasn't reeling from the shock of learning he was dead. He remembered he'd once been lectured by Hermione on the consequences of trying to reverse death. According to her it was impossible, and she was usually an authority on obscure facts.

"Reversed? How? You can't reverse death. It's impossible." He objected.

"I can," the girl said. "I'm the one person who can, although only in circumstances like these, where the body is whole but the soul has moved on."

"What makes you so special?" Harry's dear had turned into annoyance. He'd been told he was dead, and this girl thought she could bring him back. She seemed full of herself. She was here as well, which probably meant she was also dead.

"What makes me so special, Mister Potter, is that this is my domain." The girl's eyes flashed with anger at being addressed so rudely. She stood up from the windowsill, her eyes glowing black with an unnatural wind whipping through her hair. She seemed to age about twenty years, becoming a terrible but beautiful figure. The waves of fear began to roll off her once more, causing Harry to fall backwards onto the bed. The Raven's started squawking loudly

"I can reverse death because I am ruler of the Shadowfell, Queen of Ravens, Death incarnate. Address me like that again and I may reconsider my offer of ressurection."

Harry gulped, and nodded slowly. At this, the Queen of Ravens immediately softened, dissipating the aura of fear that surrounded her. Instead, she began to smile at him.

"Brilliant! I'll take that to mean you want to go back to living?"

Harry thought. He'd been miserable for the last few weeks. Alone and betrayed. And there was Voldemort out to kill him too. But he was fifteen. He had a whole life ahead of him. Even if he was killed by Voldemort, that was an extra few days alive before he had to come back here.

Harry nodded affirmative.

"Great!" she held out her hand, and a long roll of parchment appeared. She grabbed it out of the air and sat down at Harry's desk.

"This will be our contract." she explained as she began to write with Harry's quill. She raised an eyebrow at his confused look.

"What? You didn't expect to go back for free did you?" she asked as if it were the most ridiculous thing in the world. "I told you I've been trying to get you here for a while now. I needed to talk to you, but something was blocking me."

Harry sat quietly, too many thoughts whirring around in his head. What would be the cost of resurrection? The Raven Queen smirked.

"Don't worry, nothing too expensive. It's not like on of those demon films. I get your soul anyway. Actually this benefits you a lot more... there, done." she said, as she dotted the last i. She handed it to Harry, pointing to a line at the bottom labelled 'signature of client'.

Harry began to read the whole thing through, concerned as to what she was taking.

"Don't bother, I'll give you the general gist." she began. Harry looked up.

"I'm exchange for resurrection of yourself and your cousin, you agree to accept any gift from me, and follow my instruction until the death of one Thomas Marvolo Riddle. You also agree that any time you die in a reversable way, you may be resurrected at my pleasure so long as the aforementioned isn't dead yet. You get to keep anything I give you forever. Savvy?"

"So you want me to kill Voldemort?" Harry asked, unsure. It seemed poetic. The world had been hinting that this waswhere his life was going for four years in fairness; logically he would have to face the man at least once more, now that he was back at the wheel. May as well do it with these 'gifts', whatever they are.

"Oh don't worry." the Queen had obviously looked at his cautious face. "You were going to do it anyway, there's a prophecy and everything. Sneak into the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic if you want to hear it." She said it all so casually, as if telling people to go kill dark wizards was an everyday occurrence for her. At least that confirmed Harry's suspicions.

"But why?" Harry asked. That was the one thing bothering him now. Why did Death want this one man dead?

"Because the man refuses to die. He belongs to me, but won't come to my realm. He goes against fate, nature and death, and his presence in the material plane is skewing events away from what they should be. He must be brought to justice. It's that simple."

It made sense in a way, and if that stuff about a prophecy was true... Well it didn't matter anyway. Better alive than dead, whether he had to follow instructions or not. The worst that could happen would be that he'd be dead again right?

He took the parchment and quill, and signed his name.

As soon as the quill left the page, Harry felt a pressure on his heart it built up slowly, until it was almost crushing into him, forcing his chest apart. And then it released and he felt a burning sensation within himself, spreading through his blood. A new power coursed through his veins, spreading to his fingertips like wildfire. Beams of dark energy leapt from his hands into the walls. And then he collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily.

"What the hell was that?!" he gasped.

Death smirked at him. "My first gift. From now on you draw magic from the Shadowfell, rather than the Feywild. This magic doesn't require a wand to use, but the extra umph is always useful. The spells should have also been placed in your mind."

Harry realised she was right. It was a weird feeling, having knowledge in your mind without having learned it. Realising also that he was still on the floor he stood up slowly.

"My second gift, is this," she continued, pulling what appeared to be a black Venitian carnival mask. "It is the mask of many faces. Wear it and your face may become whatever you choose. Oh, and just for you I made it fix bad eyesight. You're welcome."

Harry too took the mask - it was heavier than it looked - unsure what to do with it. He voiced his concerns to the Raven Queen.

"You may as well put it on. It will mold to your face when you do." Harry followed her instruction, feeling an odd tingling pressure as the mask was absorbed into his face.

Next the Raven Queen took off her leather jacket and tossed it to Harry, leaving her in just a tight black tee.

"My armour of shadows. Should deflect any near hits from magic. And other things. If it nearly misses it misses. Easier to dodge the frying pan, eh?" She grinned as he donned the 'armour'. "Also changes to whatever you want it to be, keeps clean and when you're in a shadow you'll be invisible to all, even magic eyes." she winked. Then her face straightened and she looked alarmed.

"Shit, we're running out of time. Take this," she pulled a jet black wand from her pocket and placed it in Harry's hand. "I'll tell you more about it later, but they're about to find your body."

"Who?"

"No time! You need to go now Harry. I'm sending you back to the material." As she spoke Harry's vision began to darken. Dimmer and dimmer, until he could only see blackness, and feel the cold wand in his hand. And her voice echoed in his mind one more time.

"As you go, know this. You were once a wizard. Never again will you be. Now you are a warlock, in servitude to the highest power. I am the only certainty, but death hath many faces, and today death's face is you. Awaken warlock, and begin your first day in servitude."

**Ξ**

**Finished at 00:40, 6th June. A whole month to write not very much. Gommenasai. **


	3. The Trial of Harry James Potter

**The time is 22:19, 6th June and f* me. I just got back from 52 emails telling me about new favourites and follows. Dang you guys. That's cool. And some reviews too :). Okay, let's start this again...**

* * *

Harry awoke coughing and spluttering, like he'd been drowning. There was a sharp pain on the back of his head. He was lying face up, looking at the cool evening sky. It was perfectly normal. Nothing weird: no strange dullness, and the light was all normal. It could well have been a dream, if it weren't for that he was now wearing a leather jacket, and his vision was totally blurred through his cracked glasses. He pulled them off his face and threw them to the side, sitting up in the process.

Dudley lay beside him, midway through awakening in the same way. They were both shivering, though it wasn't cold. Rather, a warm summers evening. The wind was in the trees, and the sun cast hot rays over his back, as it hung low in the sky. Birds sang, and Harry could see old Mrs. Figg walking down the street.

Harry breathed in. Then he breathed out. There was something glorious about the air. It was refreshing somehow, like he'd been inhaling stale, musty air from somebody's basement. He smelled the fresh, grassy bloom. He heard the birds singing - sparrows, pigeons, and a raven too. He felt the warm wind on his cheeks and sighed. He decided he didn't appreciate the world often enough. Although remembered they'd been running from dementors - where they'd gone he had no idea - Harry felt oddly at peace.

He turned his eyes to watch Mrs Figg hobble their way down the road. Funny, he'd never seen the old woman move so quickly. She seemed to strain herself to move as fast as possible. And she didn't have any of her cats with her either.

Harry heard the fluttering of wings as a raven - presumably the one he'd heard earlier - landed atop a house, directly opposite him. I appeared to look directly at him before it took off down the street in the direction of Mrs Figg, calling out madly. Harry followed it with his eyes. Until he saw the group of red robed men and women that had appeared behind her. A flood of memories hit Harry. The Raven Queen, his wand, the contract-

"They're about to find your body..." echoed in his mind. Harry turned and, since that evening seemed to have a knack for repeating itself, ran like hell.

He made it barely twenty metres before he was hit with a full body bind. It slammed into the back of him, clamping his arms to his sides, his legs together and his lips closed. He hit the tarmac like a toy soldier, feeling first his nose break, then a thud on his head. A dizziness washed over him and pain erupted from his brain.

Face down on the road he could see nothing. Through his dizziness he could barely make out the words being called out behind him.

"Muggle..."

"...been hit..."

"...soul extraction..."

"...and the boy?"

There were heavy footfalls that made Harry's head feel like it was splitting each skull with each step. Then Harry was thrown the other way up. The sudden movement caused vomit to claw it's way up his throat, expelling painfully into his mouth and up his nose. Then he could move again. Harry blurted out the mess all over the asphalt. As soon as he stopped he falt himself be pinned up again. Something warm trickled down the side of his head. He stated up into the blurry face of somebody. Then he could see perfectly. And the pain and sickly feeling were gone too.

Harry looked up into the face of a man, maybe fifty. He was dark haired and shaggy, with thick sideburns accenting a rough, slightly wrinkled face. He learned at Harry with a blue eyed stare,before lifting up his fringe. He called out behind him, presumably to his friends.

"You were right Knightley. It's him." He had a thick Scottish accent, and a gruff, deep voice. The man waved a wand over Harry muttering something. "And he's tainted too. Corsair, Heggard, Keep your wands on this one. He could do anything. How is the victim looking Blake?"

"He's alive." a woman called from ten metres away? Twenty? It was close by. "Whatever the kid was attempting he must've failed."

"Getting odd readings on the diagnostic Tarn," another woman called. "Seems like this guy almost got kissed by a dementor."

"But why would a dementor not finish him off? Seems odd, unless somebody else cast a patronus?" this one was another male, younger than the one who'd been called Tarn. It came from just above Harry's head, outside his field of vision.

"Knightley, give me a diagnostic on spells in this area." Tarn said over his shoulder as he stood up from Harry. "How could a dementor get away from Azkaban?" the man appeared to think aloud. A couple of minutes passed, then a woman, assumedly Knightley, came into Harry's vision. However she stopped in his peripheral, and so, despite straining to look, the only defining feature he could see was long, dark hair.

"No magic cast here Tarn, unless it's being covered up by residual black magic from when the Reader spiked."

"Not dementors then. Perhaps the shade was an attempt to take the boy's soul?" Tarn began pacing back and forth, moving in and out of Harry's vision. Knightley retreated back to "the victim", who he could only assume was Dudley.

Tarn stopped pacing and turned to Harry. "Alright, I'm going to call in a memory team and a forensics team. We've done all we can here. Corsair?"

A voice Harry had not yet heard yet called in affirmative. It was slightly distorted, as if said from behind a mask, making it hard to tell anything about the speaker.

"He's not going to go into shock. Hit him."

"Shouldn't we do a diagnostic on him fir-"

_"Stupefy!" _

And Harry was unconscious.

Σ

Harry awoke in a chair. He was manacled, chained to the uncomfortable metal thing in the centre of a large circular room. Rows of seats were filled with robed men and women - wizards. Chatter filled the chamber. Five individuals in red robes stood around him at a distance of maybe thirty feet, forming a pentagon. Directly in front of him Harry saw halfway up the rows a face he'd not been expecting.

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic sat there in his own sectioned off little seating area, flipping through sheets of paper. On his left sat Percy Wesley, frantically scribbling notes on something. On Fudge's right a toad-faced woman dressed entirely in pink smiled down at Harry. But it wasn't a nice smile. It was the kind of smile a teacher would give a child before telling them passively aggressively they shouldn't have done that.

Above Fudge sat somebody who Harry knew rather well; somebody who, upon seeing, filled him with hope. Professor Albus Wulfrick Percival Brian Dumbledore was seated at a desk, on the highest row at the back, watching over the room like an overseer. He had no peers beside him, instead it appeared that his seat was set off from everybody else, decorated by carving ornate branching designs into the wood, and cushioning the arms with purple velvet.

Harry watched the man, trying to to catch his eye. But Dumbledore seemed to be ignoring him. Like he had all summer. No, this man was no friend of his, not at present. Fudge had always been kind to Harry however.

If Fudge was here this had to be some kind of Ministry matter. With him chained up like this... Was he on trial? But for what crime?

Harry remembered everything before he'd been stunned. They'd been talking about black magic, and shade. Different words for dark magic perhaps? But he hadn't casted any spells, let alone any dark magic! Surely they must've noticed that his wand was broken and shattered.

Without warning, Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat loudly. The room rapidly quieted. He looked directly at Harry, with something in his eyes. Hate. Professor Dumbledore hated him. Fiercely. And Harry had no idea why. Somehow, seeing it in person was different to quietly assuming from the comfort of his room at Number 4. It was heartbreaking. This man was his teacher, one of the few that believed him when he told the world of Voldemort's return. And the man hated him.

Dumbledore cleared his throat again before opening his mouth to speak.

"Are you Master Harry James Potter, of Number 4, Privet Drive?

"Yes." Harry manged to whisper.

"Harry Potter. You stand accused of practising black magic, attempted murder, attempted possession and practising magic in front of muggles. How do you plead?"

Harry's throat was dry. His eyes were wet. A feeling of hopelessness and betrayal hit him like a brick, pressing down on him and pushing him back into the hard seat. He tried to speak, but couldn't. All eyes were on him. He choked on air. He felt the stares forcing him down, scoring him, waiting for him to answer like a mantis, waiting for its prey to approach. Percy Weasley scribbled some notes.

"No-" He choked again. Breathed in. Breathed out. "Not Guilty!"

He yelled it for the heavens to hear. That's what you were supposed to say right? Harry glanced around, straining against the chains. No movement. No comment. Dumbledore's voice broke the tension.

"Then I hereby declare the beginning of this trial, of Master Harry James Potter. The prosecution may make their case."

Σ

The trial was quick. Harry did of course attempt to argue his case, but the prosecution - which happened to be the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, represented by an Auror named Tarn - provided clear evidence that he had attempted to cast something the called "the shade" or "black magic",which he struggled to argue against.

The trial ended after about an hour, with a vote from all 235 members of what they called the "Wizengamot". Must have been some kind of wizarding jury. 231 voted guilty. 4 voted not guilty. Albus Dumbledore stood once more. There was no pity in his eyes. Harry should have expected this, after the treatment he received over the summer so far. He'd been so numb since the trial began he barely even looked up when he was declared guilty of all charges, and sentenced to the Dementor's kiss.

The five aurors around him swapped his manacles for handcuffs, then led him to a cell. A small cramped room with a barred door, stone walls and nothing more than a bed roll and a simple toilet. They threw him in. They didn't bother to take the handcuffs off. They left Harry alone in his cell with nothing to do except wallow in self pity and depression.

He wondered if everyone else really hated him like that. He'd been angry over them ignoring him, sure. He hadn't actually believed that they would scorn him like this. Dumbledore especially was supposed to be a wise man. Did that mean they were right to hate him for some reason then?

These were the thoughts Harry was left to, repeated over and over in a hopeless and helpless spiral as he grew more anguished and furious. He started wailing at one point, tears rolling down his cheeks as he beat his fist against the stone wall until they were bloodied and bruised. Several hours must have past when he was finally interrupted by the sound of the door bolts sliding open.

Harry's once professor stood there. The man's face was unreadable through half moon glasses and a long white beard. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat silently. Blood dripped from his knuckles onto the floor. Dumbledore's flicked his eyes to the drop of red liquid as it hit the floor. Then he turned back to Harry. And sighed.

"Why did you do it Harry?"

It was a simple question. However it confused Harry extensively. Not the words themselves, he had enough sense to realise that he'd been falsely accused of something. But the tone of them. Harry had been expecting hate, scorn, even anger from the man. Instead he heard... disappointment.

What right did this man have to be disappointed in him for? He knew barely anything about Harry, forcing him to live with a family that hated him, believing theirs lies about him. Looking at his history with the man in Harry's emotional and unstable state caused him to see nothing but destructive actions from the man who had been his headmaster. This man had sentences Harry to death. And whilst Harry knew that he wouldn't die, Albus Dumbledore was trying to have him killed. It was for these reasons that Harry spat at the man with his next words, lacing them with as much venom as he could.

"That is none of your business old man. My life was never your business. But I suppose you had to manage it all, beginning to end!"

Harry's voice raised and cracked at the end. All the man did was nod slowly, as if accepting something.

"Then I suppose it is my own fault we are where we are today." Dumbledore said calmly. Slowly. Considered. Regretfully. This man regretted his decisions. That wasn't good enough. "I must apologise to you then Harry. It is my fault you had no contact this summer; I believed after your dreams last year Tom Riddle was looking through your eyes. I see, perhaps that is not the case. Perhaps your vision of his return was merely a product of madness caused by my own hand. Of course- that would mean poor Mr Diggory was killed by you. I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner Harry. This was... preventable."

Harry couldn't believe was hearing. The man was treating him like a mistake. Like it was all about him. Was his life a game to this man? Sorry I lost the game, I'll tried better next time. That's what Harry heard. He spoke of Harry's life like it had been a long term plan that had failed. Had the man really felt that he controlled Harry that much?

He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell. He wanted to strangle the old man where he stood. Instead he remained silent, tears and blood dripping down him, hittinh the floor with an irregular dripping. Dumbledore sighed.

"They're going to send the dementor in soon. I wish you well in the next life my boy. And apologise for this one."

And with that he turned and left. Harry followed him with his eyes. Even after the man left, the door bolted behind behind him by an auror in grey robes, Harry stared at the barred door until he heard the sounds of patroni being cast. They were sending it in.

Harry prepared himself for the chill of the dementor's presence, for the screams as it sucked out his soul. His door was unbolted and opened. The dementors turned into the cell, fleeing the patroni and the door was bolted shut again. Harry closed his eyes, bracing himself to relive the the horrific sensation of being torn out of his body. But it never came.

Harry realised quickly that he didn't even feel the chill that usually accompanied death eaters. No screams, no unwavering sadness, besides that which he felt for Albus Dumbledore. Harry opened his eyes. And saw the dementor simply hovering there. Not moving.

Looking past the dementor Harry saw three aurors outside his cell, one grey robed, the other two in black. They seemed confused, their patroni extinguished for now. Harry looked back at the dementor hesitantly. And it bowed.

Skeletal hands protruding from long, torn sleeves reseted on an unseen knee as it knelt. The thing began to shrink, torn grey cloak turning black and sproutinh feathers. A dark beak began to grow from under the hood, and bony black legs sprouted from the bottom of the cloak.

And then the dementor was gone; in its place a raven. It called out, before fluttering up onto Harry's shoulder.

At this pointpoint Harry didn't care about other people. He was simply angry. He was furious at the betrayal of one he considered a friend, along with the rest of what looked like everyone. And he'd just been given a reminder that he was not, in fact alone. So it was with a sadistic, furious grin that Harry raised his hand up, palm open, to the aurors who had drawn their wands in anticipation. They were halfway through incantations when Harry said the word that spelled their doom.

_"Shatter" _

* * *

Albus had headed straight to the exit after leaving Harry's cell. The man felt guilty about how he'd turned out, but right now the most important thing was for him to return to his office so that he could plan his next move. It was possible that the boy had hallucinate Voldemort in a moment of madness, however Albus needed to be sure that all possibilities - even the least likely ones - were prepared for. And Harry Potter was a weapon he no longer had. Plans needed to be made.

Albus thought all of this whilst waiting in a queue to floo out of the Ministry of Magic. He began playing with ideas in his mind as to how he could progress. The dementors would destroy the horcrux of course. That was one down. There were six more to locate and destroy. It was an arduous task but he would have to do it himse-

Albus' thoughts were cut off by a high pitched screech. It pierced the atrium, resounding in his skull. It was an alarm. An evacuation alarm. There was either a horrific accident or the Ministry building was under attack.

Whilst every other witch and wizard in the building ran for the fireplaces, Dumbledore turned, sweeping his robes around before striding quickly towards the Minister's personal lift.

* * *

Cornelius looked up as the lift doors opened prematurely. Not many people had authority to open this lift, but only one was actually in the Ministry at this moment - besides himself and his personal bodyguards of course. Albus Dumbledore strode in with purpose, meeting the minister's eyes before nodding at him. They may not be on the best terms but right now there was a job that needed doing, and Fudge needed the man's support in the event of a full attack on the Ministry. As soon as the lift doors closed, the old man spoke.

"What happened?"

It was quick and to the point. That was fair enough, Dumbledore would probably only speak to him so long as the situation persisted.

"Some kind of explosion in the trial cells on level 9. Aurors are heading there now." A curt response in return.

"And the dementor?"

"Nobody has been in yet to check." Fudge replied. "For all we know the cells are destroyed and the dementor is on the loose."

"There's only one person in those cells at the moment, besides his guard." Dumbledore said worriedly.

"You don't know that Albus," said Fudge. "There could've been a break-in. Goodness knows we're nowhere near as tight as we were twenty years ago."

"Twenty years ago we we were at war."

"According to you, we still are."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something but he was cut off by a voice from the lift.

"Level 9. Department of Mysteries."

The floor was deserted, besides two red-robed aurors standing guard over the lifts. They nodded to Cornelius and Dumbledore, allowing them and the Minister's three bodyguards - also aurors, dressed in white - to pass without trouble. They headed straight for the stairs, which lead them down to the Mysteries Courtrooms and holding cells.

These courtrooms were only used in two cases: if the crime committed was so heinous that the public were better off not knowing; or if the Minister wanted to hold a trial in secret. Both had been true today. This was where Sirius Black had been tried, albeit wholly unfairly, and Lucius Malfoy. And the man himself was obliviated so that he wouldn't remember it.

After passing the courtrooms - there were four of them - they reached the holding cells. Or what was left of them. The whole are had been reduce to rubble. The doors of multiple cells had blown off, some of them having caved in. Several aurors dressed in red were on the scene. One grey robed auror was sat in a chair, near what had been the entrance. Two mangled and unrecognisable bodies appeared to have been pulled from the rock, and pieces of another was being extracted from a boulder that appear to have crushed the skull. Cornelius felt bile rising in his throat at that, but he kept it down.

He recognised this team. Or at least, he remembered not four hours ago listening to its leader giving his account at the trial. The other four consisted of two women - one younger and short, maybe early thirties, with shoulder length dark hair; the other had ginger hair that was just starting to go grey at the roots, tied in a ponytail and was taller - a younger man, with hair a shade of red that was only attainable through dyes; and a man whose features were indiscernable besides his long, black hair due to a mask that covered his face. The mask had a cartoonish face drawn on it, which changed expression and moved its mouth when he spoke. He called Auror Tarn over, as his bodyguards took up a defensive perimeter of what had been the cell block.

"What do you want, Minister? I've got a job to do and I need all the time I can get before the damn blues get here."

It was insubordinate. Normally Cornelius liked a degree of bootlicking from his subordinates, however today was not the day for that kind of thing. His Ministry had been broken into assaulted. Honesty was ewhat he needed.

"Quick report auror. What's the situation?" he said sharply. Tarn stood up straighter and Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. Neither of them had apparently expected authority like that from him. But this was a viscous and obvious attack against him. He had to show he was in control to prevent panic. Hence why he, the Minister was here and not Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law enforcement.

"Something ruptured the wards on the architecture, and brought the whole place crashing down. It also created enough force to tear apart three men. Dementor and Potter are nowhere to be found, only survivor said he saw Potter get crushed under a boulder." Tarn gestured to the grey-robed auror sitting near them. "He appears to be in shock. No signs of the dementor. Whole place is tainted."

Cornelius opened his mouth to reply, but before he could Dumbledore cut him off.

"Is there any chance I could talk to Master..." he said warmly, trailing off when he realised he didn't know the grey-robed auror's name. The tone of his voice seemed to annoy Tarn.

"Mister Sedgwick. He's all yours. May I go back to doing my job Minister?"

Cornelius nodded before standing back to watch over the scene. Dumbledore however moved over to Sedgwick.

"Mister Sedgwick?"

The auror looked up quickly. He was shivering, eyes wide, dust and rubble all over his robes - not that it was easy to spot in the grey. He was young - in his late twenties. Probably just out of the Academy. Albus felt pity for him, seeing three people die in front of him.

"Professor Dumbledore? I d-didn't expect to see you here." His teeth started chattering as soon as he opened his mouth.

"Niether did I, my boy." Albus thought he caught a glint of something in the man's eye as he said that, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "However, I was in the building. I wondered if I could ask you some questions regarding this incident?"

"Of course Professor!"

"Come now, you haven't been in school for five years now. No need to call me Professor."

Sedgewick smiled slowly. He was still shaking. "What did you want to know?"

"Auror Tarn tells me you saw it all happen,"

he said. "Might I ask, what did happen? How did the cells end up in this state?"

Sedgewick clenched his fist. He seemed to be still struggling with the stress of it. Albus didn't blame him. Finally he inhaled shakily and began.

"They were just putting the dementor in. But the prisoner - he did something. There was a ringing, like after a loud noise, and then the whole place came down on top of us. I saw the rocks fall on them I-" he choked. Albus put a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you Mister Sedgwick. You may leave if you wish. I trust you know the way to Saint Mungo's?"

Sedgewick nodded. He stood, almost falling over but caught himself. Albus watched him round the corner. As he did, ten or so aurors in blue robes came the other way. An investigative team. Tarn swore loudly,before yelling at his team "Alright people time's up let's head off!"

The response was several sighs. Albus tactfully waited for them leave before offering to assist with the investigation.

* * *

Sedgewick exited the lift at the atrium on floor one. He was stood up straight, seeming very sure of himself. He to took one look around. Then walked confidently towards the floos. A raven swooped to him from behind to land on his shoulder.

The grey robed auror reached the deserted fireplaces, which lit by themselves with green flame as he approached. He walked into one of the heatless flames, pausing for a second and looking at the raven. Then he muttered something under his breath, and was engulfed in emerald fire,leaving no trace.

* * *

**Finished at 08:17 on January 13th, 2020**. **So uhhh happy new year? Heh. Thanks to all the people that were favouriting this in December. Bloody hell. I hadn't posted an update in 6 months. Thanks! I wanna know how you even found it XD. Hopefully will be writing a bit more, got distracted by Brandon Sanderson Audiobooks, but I'm done!****... until the next skyward book comes out.**

**Would appreciate some feedback as to whether I should change rating to M because of the slightly gorey bit - it says graphic violence, not sure if descriptive gore is okay? **


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